


Salt N' Lime

by winchesterfiesta



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol, Body Shots, Dry Humping, F/M, Fingering, Frottage, Stanford Sam, Young!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 08:25:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5198960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winchesterfiesta/pseuds/winchesterfiesta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the first part of the pilot episode, you're dating Sam and convince him to head out for Halloween. Smut ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Salt N' Lime

Sighing at the time blaring on the clock, you smooth down your outfit. The ‘sexy nurse’ number you were donning was one that Sam had picked, somewhat reluctantly but that was only because you’d told him you were making him go out for drinks with you and a couple of friends. Sam had somewhat of an aversion to Halloween, hated the whole thing. You figured pumpkins and girls dressed up as witches just weren’t his thing.

“Sam! We’re late,” You call, poking your head around the door.

He’s not wearing his costume. He groans quietly, “Do we really have to go? You know I hate Halloween babe.”

“ _Yes,_ we do have to go. You’ll enjoy it when you’re there,” You ignore the shake of his head, “Come on, you have to admit you like the outfit. Don’t think I didn’t notice you checking out my rack the second you saw me.”

He smiles in defeat, “Can we at least be a little later? Right now there’ll all be sober and talking about Halloween when they were kids.”

Pursing your lips, you shake your head, “Come on Sammy. If you don’t have a good time now then I promise I’ll show you a good time later,” You smirk.

He seems to consider it for a moment. Grabbing his jacket, he murmurs something indistinctly under his breath, offering you his hand to take, “Then let’s go and get this over with,” He grumbles, trying his best puppy eyes to try and convince you to stay in. No way was it working this time.

“You could at least  _pretend_ to smile Sam,” You tease, entwining his hand with yours. He simply chuckles, opening the door for you.

Once you get there Sam does seem to get into the spirit a little more, more than a few rounds of shots are sufficient to loosen him up. He even goes so far as to crack a smile when you sway to the music, hips swirling in a way that he can’t take his eyes off. He clasps his arm around your waist when he spots one of his friends stalking over, pecking your forehead. Michael eyes him with pure jealousy after he gives you a once over.

“Hey!” He greets, prying you from Sam’s arms enough to hug you tightly. You return it, pressing a friendly kiss against his cheek and returning back to Sam’s arms, much to Michael’s disappointment.

“You hear about Sammy? Managed to get a 174 in his LSAT’S, crazy good, he can get into any law school he wants now, pretty much.”

Michael pats him on the shoulder, “That’s great man! What’s it like being the golden boy of the family? Any of them ever go to college?”

Sam stiffens. Michael doesn’t notice, it’s barely detectable that there’s a change in him but you know him well enough to see the slightly tenser demeanour. He shifts the way that he holds himself, cheeks flushing from both the alcohol and the compliments.

“Naah. They don’t know I’ve got an interview here Monday either, we’re not close like that.”

“Shame,” Michael shrugs, looking in the direction of the bar, “One more round of shots?”

Sam intends to object but you nod, pleading at him with your own puppy eyes, “One more round, then we should be getting back, tends to get a little crazy around here too late at night,” He replies.

“Crazy’s good,” Michael grins, gaze raking over you once more before reluctantly turning to head back to the bar.  

You’re expecting a jealous comment from Sam, perhaps something about what a dick Michael is to be checking you out when he’s stood right here. Instead you just get the crash of lips to yours, cheap tequila pungent. His fingers curl under the belt of your outfit, tugging you ever closer to him. Your body presses against his, the warmth radiating from beneath the layers of cotton. The collar of his shirt scratches against your neck as he leans down, still stiff from his lacklustre ironing job.

His teeth drag your lower lip, nipping urgently enough for you to groan into his mouth. His own lips are chapped, a casualty of the autumn bite. You reciprocate the actions, mimicking the nibble. He groans throatily.

Getting lost in the kiss, you forget your surroundings. Fingers clench around his t-shirt, shirt buttons popped open to reveal the grey underneath. The moans are slipping frequently into his mouth now, earnest ones that are unspoken pleas for him to touch you  _somehow._ His hands slip down to cup your ass before the hoarse sound of Michael clearing his throat interrupts you.

“Jesus guys, ever heard of getting a room?” He mocks, faux nonchalant. Sliding the shots towards you, he averts his attention to some blondes dressed as cats who’re dancing near the bar.

The dishevelled kiss-swollen lip look you’ve got going on must be too much for his envying heart. Sam exchanges a look with you, a small smug smile playing at the corner of his lips. He’s such a gentleman typically that you tend to forget how much of a jerk he can be when he wants. Presumably something he learned from his family.

“You want me to play wing-woman?” You ask Michael, ignoring the questioning gaze from Sam.

Michael snorts, chugging back the alcohol and smacking his lips together, “I don’t’ need a wing woman to pull tonight.”

“Oh yeah? Then go prove it,” You point at the girl whose hips are gyrating to the beat, she looks vaguely his type from your limited knowledge. He bites his lips, looking her over and shaking his head. You laugh, “So you  _do_ need a wing woman?”

“I can go and flirt with her.”

You can’t bear to watch the train wreck in progress.  Tilting your glass ready to down the tequila, you smile at Sam, “To you being amazing and getting your full ride at Stanford.”

“It hasn’t happened yet,” He objects, throwing back the frankly  _nasty_ tasting liquid and sighing audibly at the bitter taste. You mimic him, grimacing at the burn as it slides down your throat. It really does taste like crap, but it has the desired edge, the buzz that thrums through you is well worth it.

“But we both know it’s going to. I believe in you Sam, you’ve put all this hard work in.”

“There’s still a lot of things that could go wrong,” He muses, silenced by the stern look you adopt. His lips purse, anxiety blatantly woven in the entire structure of his face. The creases by his eyes are a dead giveaway.

“Babe. You are one of the smartest people I know, you got a 174 in your LSAT’S, that was like the highest in your class right?” You ask, allowing him to interrupt to answer with a yes, “Exactly. You’re amazing, Stanford would be honoured to have you and with the way you’re going, they’ll want to offer you a full ride just so they can say they were the ones that produced Sam Winchester.”

He beams, “Where the hell would I be without you?”

His lips brush yours, hands darting to your waist again. His eyes meet yours, beholding you with such adoration. It’s enough to set your heart palpitating.

You giggle softly against his lips, “Definitely not Stanford.”

***

It’s at least two hours later when you finally make your way back into the apartment, more expensive bottle of tequila in hand. Sam has the salt and the limes, in a throwback to the old days you’d decided to do body shots. Your body buzzed with the mere thought. You remember all the nights spent in the first year of college, when you and Sam were young and sex-craved virgins. All it took was one body shot (in a fairly innocuous place at that) and you were giving your first blowjob.

Sam had, naturally, returned the favour. You’re both fairly sober at the moment, sober enough to have found your way to and from the grocery store anyway.

Your boyfriend is more of a mess of arousal anyway, primarily from the less-than-accidental grinding that’d occurred before you’d decided to take your leave. Seeing Michael strike out with more girls than you could count on one hand had only made good entertainment for so long.

“Into the bedroom babe,” Sam instructs with a playful smirk. Intent simmers in his eyes, the usual innocent look melts away when he’s turned on.  

You follow the order, making sure to swing your hips as you enter the bedroom. You can feel the watch of his eyes on your ass, appraising your every movement. You move in a way that hikes up the short skirt, exposing even more of your thigh – and there’d been a decent amount visible already.

“You want me to lie down?”

He gives you a once over, shaking his head, “Stay stood up for now.”

Your back presses against the wall, he closes the small space between you in a few steps. The shopping lies forgotten on the bed, placed carefully aside. Sam’s fingers pad your cheeks, eyes searing into yours. Heart skipping a beat, you exhale gently; your chest thrums and contracts, stomach warming in anticipation. He can’t bear the suspense, lips brushing yours hungrily in a matter of moments.

“How did I get so lucky to get you?” He purrs into your ear, voice a smooth husk. He captures your lower lip between his teeth, tugging more devotedly until you moan.

There’s no use in striving to answer, you’re starved of breath. Coherent thought bubbles away to nothing as Sam’s tongue swipes over your neck, choosing the patch to adorn with the first bite. You’re vaguely aware of your grip on his forearms, it tightens as his teeth clamp down and a jolt of pleasure electrifies you.

His fingers snake their way up your thighs, index and middle go straight to your damp core. He strokes over the wet material, a smirk twisting his lips into a devious smile. He grunts against your neck, “How are you always so wet for me?” He slips them easily underneath your panties, supporting you against the wall with his other arm. Callouses tingle over your labia, he moans as you quiver beneath his touch. Your whole body tenses.

“Bed,” You stutter through gritted teeth. He ignores you, index finger curving to enter you. It protrudes your entrance, cold against the warmth of your core. The press of his lips against your neck is softer, more tentative, you flush with pleasure as he nibbles at your ear. He simultaneously allows the pad of his thumb to venture over your folds, stroking with light curiosity. Your thighs press around his hand, a silent way for your body to call out for more. Then you’re left empty.

“I think you should lie down,” He suggests, power back in equal balance now supposedly, although the quake of your thighs and the ravenous hunger that overpowers you would beg to differ.

How quickly or not you get what you want hinges on whether you wish to tease him first. Immediately you decide against it, holding still so as to allow him to remove your outfit. His hands caress you adoringly, squeezing at the soft flesh before trailing down to the next button. He kisses you all the while, sweet and gentle until the final one pops and you’re left bare before him, save the barely-there underwear. They hug at your sex, the dampness making them even tighter than usual. You can’t decide whether the torture is pleasant.

By the time you’re lying down, Sam is stripped to his boxers. He climbs onto the bed, settling near the edge to fiddle with the bottle, the lid comes off fairly easily. Obviously it was designed with drunks in mind.

“My turn first,” He insists, rising to his knees. He’d taken care of your bra along with the nurse’s outfit, the cold in the room isn’t directly responsible for the stiffness of your nipples. He pinches the left one, your knee jerk reaction is to move but his hand rests atop of your ribs, pushing down gently, “Stay still baby.”

“You’re an asshole,” You say, retaliating to his mischievous gaze with a roll of your eyes.  The sensation of tequila in your navel is an odd one, but Sam decides upon the gap between your breasts to bare the salt. He licks over it, ignoring the curl of your hands against the sheets and sprinkling a decent amount there. The limes are segments, cut already thank God. He places one between your lips and you try not to bite, holding it so as to not get a mouthful of the bitter juice.

“I love you too,” He replies easily, eyes scanning over your frame and sauntering indulgently over the peak of your breasts. He leans down, his feverish breath fanning over you. Instinctively you clamp your mouth, grimacing at the sour taste. Sam grins, “Told you to stay still baby.”

Playful name-calling is the last thing on your mind, his clothed cock presses against your thigh, within a desperate proximity of your sex.  _You want him._  He sucks the alcohol from your navel, hissing at the twang it leaves behind in his mouth. It’s not an uncomfortable feeling, albeit not as divine as the sensation of his tongue smoothing over that line, sparing time to gather every grain of salt on his buds before moving up to bite the lime. Your body is an absolute fucking puddle.

Not feeling quite human, you groan into his mouth as he takes the fruit from you. He places it aside with a grin, a deep sticky kiss exchanged that ends abruptly when your tongue curls around his.

“Haven’t even done one off me yet, you’re already trying to cheat.”

“Am not,” You object, “I could do more than you if I wanted, I handle my drink better.”

“Oh yeah?” He raises his eyebrows, trying not to shudder as your tongue presses over his hipbone. Technically you should probably choose somewhere above his navel but he has no protests. The sweat that softly glistens his skin tastes salty in your mouth, akin to how his cum might taste. Shaking the image of him buried balls deep inside your throat, nose flat against his pubic bone, you reach for the bottle.

“Yeah,” You shrug, “If I wanted to I could do three in a row off of you, not even feel it.”

Regret tinges your throat as soon as the words are spoken, smugness radiates off Sam in palpable waves, “Go ahead, Y/N. You have always liked a challenge. Put your money where your mouth is.”

“I think you like my mouth just where it is,” You mumble against his hipbone, reluctantly propping yourself up properly.

You can’t let him win.

Your body tenses immensely at the thought of having to run your mouth over the sun-kissed skin,  _three fucking times no less,_ without gratification of any kind. You yearn to sink onto his cock, to ride him until your walls are clenching around him and your body’s humming with the firebolt’s of electricity. To do so would be to give him the satisfaction of winning, you never had liked losing.

Gritting your teeth, you administer the alcohol and lime. The latter spurts into his mouth from his smile, he swallows down the liquid with a confident look. His victory will be a sweet enough taste.

“Want me to count for you?”

It’s meant to be teasing but you nod, that could actually count as helpful when blood was thrumming to your head in such thick streams, you could barely follow one train of thoughts. The salt is placed last, you ensure that a little falls  _just_ underneath the waistband of his boxers. He’ll break before you do, you hope.

Sucking in a deep breath, you begin. Suckling the tequila from his navel is surprisingly difficult, the burn of the alcohol tickles in your nose and you almost falter. Dotting a kiss to the skin above it, you move south. Your tongue soon closes in on the patch of salt, running vigorously over it. It’s not too bad tasting, the way Sam’s muscles ripple beneath his stomach is well worth the bitter taste. You flick your tongue under the waistband of his boxers, glancing up just in time to see the shocked expression contort his face. A muffled grunt emerges, his eyes darken threefold until there’s practically nothing but black.

Hastily you move on. Rushed kisses up his chest lead to his neck, biting it unfortunately  _isn’t_ on the agenda but the acidic taste of the fruit soon is as you fulfil the final item on the itinerary.  

Sam gasps as it’s removed from his mouth, his complaint stifled slightly by the more insistent hush of your lips, “What the hell was that? That was,” He shut’s himself up, giving in to the sweep of your tongue across his lower lip until you’re both tangled in a mess of stickiness and tartness.

“Getting even,” You nibble his lower lip before pulling away, “You challenged me so I got my own back.”

He bites his lip, “Got two more to go yet.”

Already his mouth is red from the juices, swollen lips protruding. Partly your harsh kisses are responsible but primarily it’s the fruit, a cross he’s clearly willing to bear as he hands you another segment, letting it fall into your palm in encouragement. He wants  _you_ to place it.

You will, albeit cautiously as though waiting for some attack. Your fingers close around it, making sure not to squeeze it. His jaw is slack, mouth open waiting for you to pop it in there, his almost eager look is what gets you shooting him a dubious one in response. Your index finger barely gets anywhere near his mouth before he’s sucking it in there, roughly tugging at the pad of it and swirling his tongue over it. You shiver. Mimicking his actions on your clit from last night, he dances over it once more before you yank it from him.

“Stop trying to cheat,” You mumble, stuffing the lime into his waiting mouth. By the grace of God it shuts him up, although he does reach for the salt shaker.

He shakes his head when you try to take it back, guiding it down to the saliva covered patch of skin and producing a minute amount. Your eyebrows knit with disapproval, grunting quietly he moves his wrist again, clearly intending to only sprinkle a little. That doesn’t go to plan.

It spills over his boxers, cotton covered in the granules. Flashing a devilish grin, you giggle, “Thanks for that Sammy.”

His incoherent grumbles are something you find easy to ignore. Your eyes squeeze shut as you take the drink, the quality of the alcohol somehow managing to become poorer the more of it you consume. No more mind is paid to that once it’s gone though, slowly you lick a full line towards his hip. His entire body is taut with restraint, knuckles white from how tightly he’s fisting the sheets.

Moaning against him, you suckle your way down to the v-lines that follow through right down to his boxers. Eagerly, hurriedly even, you collect the salt that lies on his skin. Pungency seems diminished now, the thrill of the task that awaits is overwhelmingly arousing.

His cock is firm against the material of his boxers, spurts of pre-cum evident from the darker patches. He emits a groan, a load one that vibrates through his whole body, as your tongue smooths lightly over his length. The smallest amount of salt gathers on the end of it. You point it, enabling it to travel more delicately over the area the tip of him presses against. He visibly shakes as you train over it, pre-cum spurting freely to add to the taste. You glance up at him, he’s worn with the effort of keeping himself still. One more move and he’ll break.

You curve your mouth over his head, sucking enthusiastically and revelling in the buck of his hips. Suddenly he jerks. Lime is abandoned on the side, he tenses and within a singular instant you find yourself flat beneath him.

“I think I win,” You whisper, the fact paling in comparison to the real victory. Sam ignores your comment, mouth ghosting over your breast and pulling at your nipple sharply enough to make you writhe. You grapple at his back, the tissue and muscle is rigid beneath your fingertips and fucking divine to sink them into.

He groans gutturally, “S’a tie, you cheated.”

Neither of you have the cognitive function required to continue the argument. The roll of his hips against yours has you struggling for air, taking your solace in the form of your tight grip on him. Almost experimentally he grinds harder, knocking you off your stride when the head of his cock hits your clit dead on. You mewl, stomach curling itself into an impossibly thick knot.

Built up tension thrums through you, you wriggle your hips in a failed attempt to attain more friction. His hands rest upon your hips, holding them still. His own still momentarily, no rhythm yet in his ministrations.

“Sam,” You cry, straining your muscles to try to free yourself, “Please, need to cum, need it so much.”

It’s true, you’re aflame with want. Need eats away at every part of you, flaring into an inextinguishable monsters when he chuckles lowly, darkly even, and starts in a punishing pace. Underwear is the only barrier as he rocks against you, angling himself carefully, “Have to wait to get what you want, I did.”

Unable to articulate a response, you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him closer. He permits it, dotting kisses all over your neck. You’re moaning freely when he bites down on your pulse point, so hard that you can already feel the mark forming. Vaguely you’re aware of shouting his name, of ecstasy hugging at your insides and bursting hard in your core. You’re fucking soaking, the panties are more than uncomfortable but Sam pistons his hips and his cock hits your clit and you’re gone in a cloud of carnal passion.

Body moving at its own will, you buck with fury, vehemently grinding against him until he stutters against your neck, “Fuck Y/N.”

Neither of you are going to last long.  The buzz of the alcohol in your bloodstream and the intoxicating sensation of Sam against you is a combination that’s guilty for the ticking time-bomb in your core. It’s all too much at once, the thrust of his hips teeters you close to the edge. Persistently he licks along your collarbone, copying your actions on him from earlier.

Heat prickles at every part of you, the flush of Sam’s body and the perspiration that coats both of your chests does little to help. Slick movements, roaring flames peaked by him, his fingers slide under the torn lace of your panties and press determinedly against your clit.  _Oh fuck._

Words are lost between the pair of you, breathless gulps of air are swallowed between mewls, groans, moans, cries, screams when Sam rocks against you particularly hard. You can feel in the swell of Sam’s cock, the clenching of your walls around the tips of his digits that imploding is a question of when not if. You seek his lips out, embracing them in a final deep kiss. Wet lips glide over yours, chewed something chronic from the tensions of the evening, waves upon waves of bliss lap over you. Your lungs drown in it, burning at loss of oxygen as you slap hard against the rocks.

Falling freely off the edge, you grab more solidly onto Sam, “Sam!” You’re vaguely aware of your own voice in the background, your mind primarily occupied by the throbbing of your core and the pure euphoria that beams through every fibre.

Faintly you hear him say something about cuming, followed by the stilt of his hips and the pulsating of his cock. He slams hard into you one more time, cradling you through the last waves of your orgasm and spilling himself into the tented material of his boxers. Your core is warm still, from your arousal and now his too, body still dancing on coals as the aftershocks settle deep in your bones.

You can finally breathe again.

“Love you so much,” You huff against his neck, the smell of sex pervasive throughout the room. You wrinkle your nose, an action that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sam.

He pecks your forehead gently, “Let’s get some clean clothes on.”

You’re grateful that he helps you dress, the tinge of the alcohol has long worn off now you’re sated. Lethargy envelopes you invitingly, you help as best you can while Sam changes your underwear to clean ones and helps you into a Smurfs t-shirt. He puts pyjama’s on, it’s cold but you protest at the idea of pants, claiming him as your personal hot water bottle.

Somewhere between mumbled ‘I love you’s’, you fall soundly asleep to the steady beat of his heart. You’re not expecting to be woken just two hours later by a crash in your living room.

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed it! Constructive criticism is also welcomed :)


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